Echo
by The Sharra
Summary: Flashback: Kongol and Miranda clash in their own odd way.
1. Prologue: Understand

"Echo" 

by She-Ronin 

Prologue: Understand 

"We came out of the deep 

To help and understand but not to kill 

It takes many lives till we succeed 

To clear the debts 

Of many, many hundred years..." 

--Enigma, "Second Chapter" 

If there was one thing the former Golden Dragoon was forced to admit, it was the fact that an eternity in the afterlife was far more pleasant than an eternity spent as a specter. He'd 'lived' over eleven thousand years as a spirit, and in all that time, he never would have anticipated Eternity would assume the form of the city of Vellweb. It wasn't so surprising now-Paradise, when you came right down to it, was happiness. Belzac had mixed feelings about the settlement where he'd lived his life on Endiness, but he couldn't deny that he had been happy there. 

_Happiness_, he mused absently, gnawing on his lower lip as he leaned forward in the plush chair he was sitting in. Pale eyes narrowed at the misty white orb floating in front of him. _It seems so fleeting down there._

"Giganto?" 

Ah, well, while he was focused on fleeting happiness, one might as well consider his own. Belzac's cheek twitched at the sound of that aggravating voice. _I had eleven thousand years of peace and quiet, and now I can't get a single minute alone with my thoughts._

The low, uncouth voice sounded almost like cannon fire in a room that had been so quiet moments ago, and the tone that was used to speak his 'name' made it quite clear that the speaker was rather happy to disturb him. "_Gi-Gan-to_." 

He heaved a great sigh and straightened, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveyed the man standing in the doorway. The auburn-haired newcomer was slight, sharp-faced, and didn't seem the slightest bit concerned that he had intruded upon Belzac's privacy. "What is it, Kanzas?" he demanded, exasperated. 

Kanzas peered at the foggy sphere in front of Belzac's chair, eyebrows raised. "Aha," he proclaimed. 

"What do you mean, 'aha'?" 

The Giganto really did spend far too much time cooped up in that damned stuffy tower of his. It didn't concern Kanzas all that much, as the two of them had never really gotten on well when they were still alive, and being dead hadn't changed that. However, Shirley was concerned that her old friend was spending too much time alone, dwelling on the living; and when Shirley was worried, she was unhappy. 

When his wife was unhappy, he was unhappy. 

An unhappy Kanzas was not a pleasant man. 

With a grand, sweeping gesture, the thunder elemental motioned towards the seeing-orb that was so often the focus of Belzac's attention. "'Aha' means _'aha'_, you dolt," he growled. "Just because you're dead doesn't mean you don't have a life. You spend way too much time with that thing." Said 'thing' received an accusing glare. The orb merely shimmered on, it's ethereal glow illuminating the shadowed room like artificial moonlight. 

Those blunt words rang true, but he couldn't bring himself to care all that much. It wasn't that he found the world of the living so fascinating-not really. He'd had his time, however brief it might have been and he had few regrets about his life. No, what currently interested the half-breed man was one simple concept that he couldn't seem to banish from his mind. Belonging. Friendship. Happiness. These were supposed to be such simple ideas and yet they somehow managed to be infinitely complicated. "Come here and look at this, would you? I want to show you something." 

"No, thank y-" 

Kanzas' reply was cut off when Belzac lurched from his chair and stormed over towards him, closing one huge hand around the assassin's considerably smaller wrist. The redhead yelped as he was literally dragged over towards the orb. Briefly, he considered striking out at Belzac, but the idea was quickly dismissed. One thing he had to admit about the normally soft-spoken man-when he set his mind on something, come Hell or high water he would have his way. _Easier just to go along with it,_ he thought grumpily, not protesting when he was shoved down into the plush chair. "All right, fine. Show me." 

The opalescent surface of the sphere flared brightly for one brief moment. Kanzas squinted his eyes against the brilliance of it, yet leaned forward in spite of himself to try and make out the blurry image within its center. _What is it that's got the Giganto's tights bunched so tightly anyway?_

The woman was a tall, willowy creature with bright hair whipped violently around her face by the chill, biting wind. There was something familiar about her that caused Kanzas to frown; he wasn't like the others who paid such attention to the living and their faces always seemed to melt together. Still, if the sight of her struck a chord, then he must have seen her at some point in the recent past. No matter how hard he reflected on the blonde, he couldn't seem to place her. "Got yourself a living girlfriend?" 

Belzac gave him a withering look. "It's Miranda." 

Silence. 

"The White-Silver Dragoon." 

"Ah, I see how it is, then. You couldn't get _my_ wife, so you're trying to get the-" 

"It's not like that!" He took a few deep breaths and counted to ten in a valiant attempt to keep from backhanding his rival into the wall. What had he been thinking, anyway? How could _Kanzas_ of all people understand? "I like to check in on them all from time to time." Perhaps he was playing the overprotective father to his 'children', the newest bearers of the Dragoon spirits. They had proven themselves time and time again, even going so far as to defy the will of Soa Herself. However, he couldn't help but worry about them and periodically gaze into the world of the living to see how they fared. "They pulled our spirits from the gates of Hell. If they hadn't freed us, you _know_ where we would be now, Kanzas. Now wipe that smug look off of your face and listen for once." 

_Huh! _Well, he had to admit that the Giganto had a point; Rose and the brats had literally pulled their arses out of the fire… Kanzas lost the amused smirk and sighed, flopping back into the chair. "You've got my attention, Belzac. What is it that you find so utterly compelling?" 

"Queen Theresa of Mille Seseau is dying." 


	2. Part One: Feel

"Echo" 

by She-Ronin 

Part One: Feel 

"It's funny how you feel so much 

But cannot say a word 

We are screaming inside 

Though we can't be heard..." 

--Sarah McLachlan, "I Will Remember You" 

When snow fell and settled on the city of Deningrad, it always seemed to her that diamonds had drifted down from the sky to blanket everything around her. _Diamonds falling one by one… _She didn't know how long she'd been standing out there in the glittering blanket of white, heedless of the biting wind. In all honesty, she didn't care all that much. Cold was… solid somehow, and it grounded her to reality. Wrapping her arms tightly about herself, Miranda, First Sacred Sister of Mille Seseau tipped back her head to gaze at the starry night sky, allowing herself to fall backwards… 

Her body hit the ground with a crisp crushing of snow and a flurry of white flakes. It hurt a little, but a thing so trivial as physical pain had never particularly concerned Sister Miranda. She was like the country she served in that respect—harsh and unyielding, possibly even cruel at times. _Diamonds_, she thought again, and wearily spread her arms out on either side of her. _Ice-like diamonds…_

A small, impractical part of her wished she could stay outside, just like this, lying there cross-like until the snow covered her like the burial shroud that would soon cover Queen Theresa. It seemed pointless to her that she'd Done Her Duty and saved the world, only to discover the power she had couldn't even save the Queen. _If I had known sooner, I could have changed things! I know I could have. _

The doctors had been next to useless, examining Theresa and taking more than their fair share of money in the process. All they had truly done was confirm what she had already figured out on her own. The disease had likely been with the Queen for years, infecting her insides so innocuously that not even Miranda had been aware of it. Only in this past year when the Queen had begun to feel the pains in her stomach had Miranda even suspected something was wrong. The moment she'd begun to worry, she'd taken the White Silver Dragon Orb and commanded it to do what it did best. She'd wanted it to heal, to make her 'mother' well again. The stone had been cold and lifeless in her hand—that was when she'd known it was too late. Perhaps early on, the illness could have been purged from her body, like a poison, but it hadn't been caught quickly enough. 

The blonde woman moved suddenly, reaching her arm under the collar of her white shirt, uncaring of the fabric that stretched out of shape as she yanked the spirit out from under it. The golden chain she'd strung through it—funny how the spirits reshaped their forms when needed—glimmered mockingly at her. She stared at the silvery orb wordlessly and felt a horrible urge to throw the horrible thing away so that she'd never have to look at it again. "What good are you, huh?" she demanded quietly. "Stupid piece of shit." 

Miranda didn't stir at the sound of snow crunching from behind; she merely continued glaring at the marble-shaped object in her hand accusingly. 

"I wish you wouldn't curse like that. It's… not polite." 

In response to Wink's hesitant words, her lips merely quirked up into a bitter little smile. "Well, fuck me," the First Sacred Sister drawled sarcastically, "I guess if I'm going to be royalty, I should clean up my act." 

If she was going to be royalty—_if_; she let the unspoken statement hang in the air. 

Wink swallowed back a sigh. _Please, Miranda, I don't want to deal with this right now_,she pleaded silently, _not with all that's happening. _She absently rubbed one aching temple and knelt down, wincing as the cold stung her stockinged legs beneath her skirt. It was too cold to be out here like this, in little more than her bedclothes. She had never understood how Miranda seemed to deal with Deningrad's weather so… nonchalantly. "You're going to freeze to death one of these days." 

The snow could cover her like a burial shroud. "Doubtful," she returned, stretching out languidly on the ground. 

"Her Majesty asked me to come and get you." She tapped the woman gently on the shoulder and promptly winced as she received a narrow-eyed glare in response. "And, ah…" 

"And what?" 

Mumble. 

_"Wink." _

Wink suddenly seemed to find the end of her golden braid terribly fascinating. "Lord Adrik is in there with her." 

Miranda climbed awkwardly to her feet, dusting the snow from her damp clothing. Adrik, she realized, and tucked the Dragoon spirit back underneath her white tunic. Why wouldn't Adrik be in there with her? He is her 'nephew' after all. 

She couldn't stand the Lord of Rovyanka, and the feeling had been mutual from the day the two of them first met. "Don't worry. The two of us can keep our tongues civil when we have to." 

If Adrik and Miranda were able to get along so well, then why had she suddenly developed that horrible tic in her cheek at the mention of his name? Wink smiled lamely and merely nodded, as if to reassure Miranda that she agreed with her completely. "Well, if you really think so." 

There were times like this that she was forced to admit she, well, wondered about Miranda and if she were really as collected as she seemed. Then, Wink would see her striding about the castle, commanding as any queen, slapping the insolent this way and that, and she knew she had to be wrong. Miranda was just Miranda, brusque and icy-cold. 

"I do," the other woman replied quietly. _I've always done what I must for Queen Theresa. _She outstretched her hand to help Wink up and the smaller woman accepted it, closing her fingers around Miranda's own in a grip that was surprisingly firm. "Now come on; we can't keep the Queen waiting." 

*** 

"Safe journey!" Haschel waved cheerfully after the plump, retreating form that was scuttling off down the streets of the city. All in all, the brown-skinned, Rouge native was now a happy man, as he had a nice-sized bag of gold currently burning a hole in his pocket. He was just itching to spend some of it, too… _If only._

Merchant Dua paused and turned to give the pair a brief, wary glance before continuing on his way. Haschel grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. "How do you like that? Not even a good-bye." There had been an incident in the Evergreen Forest where the fat old guy had almost been killed by an angry Moss Dresser, but he'd been certain Dua had gotten over it. "You youngsters have no respect for old people nowadays." 

His companion shot him a narrow-eyed look and merely shrugged. Kongol wasn't exactly a 'youngster', but he'd already learned that arguing with an elderly martial arts master would get him absolutely nowhere. The Giganto nudged a small pile of broken shards with the tip of his sizeable foot, taking in the majestic sight of the Crystal Palace in the distance. The city was almost deathly silent this night, as if it had anticipated their arrival. 

Due to the assistance of many Winglies aiding in the reconstruction of the castler, Deningrad was far different from the decimated rubble left behind by the Divine Dragon King. However, it was also a far cry from the regal city it had once been. _It's like it's slowly… falling, almost the way the Giganto Holy Land did._

Almost like the Holy-Land did; somehow, Kongol doubted Deningrad was still littered with the bodies of her dead. 

He was so intent on his study of the castle that he was only dimly aware that Haschel was saying something- or- other about finding lodgings for the night. Normally he kept a close eye on how much they spent—especially considering Haschel's spending habits, but tonight things like saving money seemed rather trivial. 

"Whatever Haschel wants to do is fine with Kongol," was his absent reply. 

Traveling with him for as long as he had made Haschel well aware of the warrior's thrifty habits and he knew that an opportunity like this was not one to be missed. Oho! You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that. Crossing his arms behind his back, the martial artist gave his companion a beatific smile. "Someplace nice where we can put our feet up, then." 

The large male shifted the cloth-wrapped bundle on his shoulder to a more comfortable angle. "Fine. Sounds good." 

"Mm. Yes, it does, doesn't it?" _I bet I know what's so fascinating about that castle. _Haschel sighed and patted his pocket, gleefully listening to the chinking of coins. _Ah, youth!_

A quick stroll down a few of the winding, cobbled streets yielded few options for the two travelers, but as the Violet Dragoon was the one choosing the inn for once, the ramshackle Squeaky Spring was written off in favor of the far cozier North Star Inn. "It's one thing to visit one of those places, but I'm not spending the night in one of them." 

"Isn't 'spending the night' the whole point if you're at the Squeaky Spring?" 

Haschel didn't bother to hide his smirk. "That all depends on who you're with." 

With a soft squeaking of door hinges and the thudding of boots on smooth hardwood floors, the two Dragoons made their way through the lobby and to the front desk. Soft whispers sounded as, almost all at once, the people milling about the room released whom the two snow-dusted travelers were. 

"Giganto—" 

"Then that would make him—" 

The innkeeper stared at them for a long, silent moment, eyebrows upraised. To his credit, the Tiberoan native didn't seem to be particularly intimidated by the sight of an eight-foot tall man with a particularly sizeable axe standing so casually in front of his desk. Haschel frowned inwardly at that. _So much for using Kongol's presence to haggle the price down._ "Twenty gold pieces," he offered flatly, plunking two of the coins down on the countertop. 

"Fifty gold pieces per night," the innkeeper returned just as evenly. "Sixty if you," at this, he paused and eyed Kongol, no doubt wondering if he could back up his claim, "want a bath." 

_"Thirty."_

"Did you not hear me the first time? It's fifty gold pieces." Dark hands slapped down flat on the scratched wooden surface of the counter. He leaned forward and glared at the martial artist, his eyes flint-hard slits in his face. "If you don't want to pay the fee, then you and the Giganto can go to the Squeaky Spring down the road!" 

Kongol ignored the stares of those around him, and gazed stonily at the wall, crossing his free arm up across his chest to grasp the wrapped handle with both hands. He muttered under his breath, "maybe old man should have let 'the Giganto' decide where we stayed after all." 

Haschel snorted indignantly, whirling around to protest his friend's faulty logic. "Now, you did say I could choose. It wouldn't be fair to change your mind." 

_"Fifty gold."_

Such a waste of hard-earned money. Kongol sighed loudly, beginning to drum his fingers across the haft of the axe. _Why does he always have to do this? He tells me I'm cheap often enough, but he's always the one arguing with the merchants._

Transferring the heavy mass back to one hand, he reached out, attempting to snag up the purse with a motion that was surprisingly deft. Haschel transferred the purse to his other hand, dangling it mockingly between two fingers. "Keep practicing and maybe someday you'll be as quick as I am." 

"Haschel." He inhaled a deep breath to soothe his frazzled nerves before continuing. Waste of money or not, he was not in the mood to deal with these kinds of antics. Not here, in this city of all places. "Pay him." 

The innkeeper didn't bat an eyelash. "Yes. Please, pay me." An unspoken 'or get out' seemed to hover ominously upon the smoky air, causing Haschel to bristle further. However, when he caught sight of the look on Kongol's face he bit back his rather nasty reply, scowling. 

"Here." Three more coins joined the few already on the desk. "If we want a bath, we'll go ahead and pay you in the morning." _Bandit._

A single key was tossed nonchalantly into the air to be caught neatly by bony brown fingers. The Tiberoan and the Dragoon stared at one another for a second as if they were each sizing up an opponent on the battlefield. Watching the two men 'face-off', Kongol wouldn't have been surprised to discover the innkeeper was born to Thunder. Those born under the influence of the Thunder element were supposedly inclined to clash with one another. He had never really bought into the astrology and the influences of the elements, but Haschel did, and after one year, he knew far more about horoscopes and arrogant Thunder elementals than he'd ever cared to know. 

"Which room?" he asked in a valiant attempt to break their staring contest. 

Surprisingly—or perhaps not—it worked. 

"Down the hall, third door from the left." 

Hacshel trailed reluctantly after Kongol as the Giganto marched off, leaving no room for him to argue. His cheek twitched in reaction to the insincere, "The North Star Inn thanks you for your business. Have a pleasant evening." 

"Hn!" the Violet Dragoon grunted. Perhaps the Squeaky Spring would have been more hospitable! Why did all the rude, cranky old guys live in Deningrad, anyway? There had been that sort-of—but-not-quite-overbearing Librarian Ute to deal with the last time everyone had been here, and on their second 'real' trip, they encountered that aged fool! 

He fumbled the key into the lock on the cedar wood door, all the while grumbling about the elderly needing to be decent role models for all the 'young people' that looked up to them. Kongol brushed past him as he pushed the door open, the cloth-wrapped axe slung over his shoulder slamming loudly into the doorframe in the process. Hinges rattled, and Haschel ducked down slightly to avoid the heavy weapon. "Careful, there. I don't want to be hit on the head with that again!" 

His reply was a quick, honey-colored glance that was followed by, "Sorry. Kongol wasn't paying attention." 

_I_ _guess not. _He couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy for his awkward friend, who was so often lost in his own thoughts. What with arriving in Deningrad and the rumors of the Queen's impending death, Kongol's quiet tendencies were more pronounced than ever. It wasn't so much an attachment to the city, or its sickly monarch that had Kongol wound so tightly, but it wasn't his place to try and bring the warrior peace of mind. _It's for you to work out, boy._

The villagers had whispered when they'd asked of Queen Theresa's health that she had little time left, and that Sister Miranda rarely left her side now. Most of all, they whispered that with the arrival of Lord Adrik Tainevel, 'trouble will follow'. 

Neither of them had actually mentioned to the other about actually stopping by the castle, but it seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they would. Respects should be paid, and Miranda, for what it was worth, would at least know they were around. It wouldn't be for long, but they would be there. 

As to why they wandered in the first place, it had begun with a simple letter from the King of Serdio himself. Kongol and Haschel had spent the days after Frahma's defeat peacefully enough, but with increasing restlessness. When the messenger from Serdio arrived at the tiny island of Rouge, two Dragoons eager for news of the outside world had immediately seized the parchment he carried. Unfortunately, Albert had never been one to get straight to the point, and the letter had gone on for two entire pages before either of them actually figured out what he was even talking about. A few verbose, elegantly scrawled lines near the end of the message had been enough for Kongol to decide to leave the island. 

_'It has come to my attention that you may not be the last of your kind. Rumors have been circulating through Tiberoa regarding the possible existence of another Giganto. I had thought the citizens of the country had seen Kongol, yet, as far as I know, the two of you have remained in Rouge…'_

The time they'd spent on the road had been more eventful and exhausting than anything. Kongol had received his first offer as a bodyguard barely a day after they'd left 'home', the money earned financing their constant travels across Endiness. All they'd had to go off of were rumors that were passing from village to village and swiftly being warped into a bizarre urban legend. So bizarre, in fact, that the last villager Haschel talked to had taken one look at Kongol, assumed that he was said Giganto they were searching for, and began to scream that 'he had eaten her dog'. 

When exactly was it that townspeople had become such sheep? Had they always been that way? Haschel didn't really know, but he had a feeling that mindlessly following the herd came naturally to his fellow peasants. 

He tossed his heavy pack onto the floor and then promptly flopped onto one of the beds. A few feathers flew up into the air, and he sighed lazily. "We should wait until morning to drop in on Miranda. If we want to live to a ripe old age, that is." 

The axe hit the floor with an exceptionally loud 'thud' as Kongol slammed the weapon down just a bit too forcefully. Right about now would be the time he was supposed to claim Haschel had already reached his old age, but he'd grown weary of the routine rather quickly today. _So, we go to the castle tomorrow._

_Best to leave him alone when he's in this kind of mood_, the other man realized. This time, his sigh was unhappier, and his clear blue eyes were almost resigned as he flung one arm over his face. "This was the inn we took Shana to when Deningrad was attacked, remember?" 

A slight, sarcastic smirk. 

A short, searing glance. 

A single scarred hand pulling away from the axe. 

"Yes." 

Haschel raised his arm away from his face and sat up, wincing as sore muscles protested at the movement. "Sooo… damned dragon nearly destroyed the place, Kongol." 

The Giganto was already stripping the bedclothes from the other mattress, neatly laying the blue coverlet and sheets on the carpet. Even sleeping on the floor was more comfortable than trying to rest on a bed that was too small and flimsy to handle his weight. "The Humans rebuilt quickly," he replied automatically, his eyes heavy-lidded and shadowed in the dim light of the room. "Winglies had to have helped with the castle." 

Normally, it was impossible for the martial artist to discern what his friend was thinking at times like these. However, eccentric as Haschel might be, he was by no means unobservant, and he realized more than Kongol thought he did. "All the more reason for me to go check and see if they made proper repairs to the bar downstairs!" 

He tossed out a far too cheerful, "Going to get plastered! See you in the morning!" Before Kongol even had a chance to respond, the door slammed shut. He stared at the spot where Haschel had been seconds earlier, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that a man who had been complaining about wanting to rest suddenly decided to go carousing. He smacked his forehead with his palm, resisting the urge to call after Haschel and ask him to bring back a bottle of Fine Spirits. _Tomorrow. I think maybe I can wait._

The sharp, gleaming shard of the Crystal Palace sparkled at him from the window, as if it were made of a thousand cold, mocking stars, and his eyes darkened as, in one smooth motion, he turned his back to it. 

*** 

_"The next morning, Greyfoot said to his wife, 'Today, I must stay at home; I feel an illness coming on me, so I will rest and try to get better.'"_

Slim, elegant fingers neatly slid beneath the corner of the page, turning it with a soft whisper of old parchment. "Hear that, Aunt? If a princely woodcutter can take time out of his busy schedule to rest, so can the Queen of Deningrad. Worry about getting better. Doctors, what do they know--" 

Propped up on an obscenely large pile of pillows rested Her Royal Highness Queen Theresa. The pale, thin woman's brown hair was loosed from its typical knot on her head and the mass of it fell in a soft tumble down her shoulders and along her arms. She whispered a hoarse; "you're a liar, Adrik, but a kind one." Her smile was wan, yet almost too noticeable in a face that was far too thin. 

Adrik's brown eyes flickered darkly at the prone form of the queen, her sharp, truthful words cutting him like a knife's edge. With the country's ruler near death and without an heir, the Sacred Sisters had undertaken the daunting task of running the country so that Theresa could live out her final days in peace. Most of them were too busy to come see her any longer than a few moments a day. Then the 'symbols of the queen' would be called back to serve God and country, and Theresa was left alone to her pain. 

Yes, most of them were too busy to come see her, so other than he and one other, the Queen was alone. Wink had actually stopped by a few minutes ago, just long enough to exchange a few quick words with Theresa and to hear her request before she had to scurry off to do something else. His aunt had few people to speak to but for the he, the servants, and that blonde bitch, Miranda. _I would guard the throne so that the Four in your final hours could surround you, if you'd but ask._

However, in the end, wasn't that the problem? Queen Theresa had yet to name her successor and she showed no signs of making her decision anytime soon. 

"I wonder if I shouldn't have sent for her. She's so weary." This statement was but a breath of sound, softer still, "So are you." 

_"She burst into tears, and told him that when he was ill she could not think of leaving him…"_

The unspoken message rang clearly in the Duke's smooth reading, and Theresa relaxed against the pillows in relief. For all bravado, she did not want to be left alone. Death could take her at any moment—she had accepted that. It was just that when she did pass on, she wanted someone to be there with her. 

There was a loud shuffling of feet from behind the door that indicated Owen had shifted his sizable bulk to one side to allow access to the room he was blocking off. _Speak of the devil._

Those that lived in the castle often called Sister Miranda 'Iceberg', and as the tall blonde woman strode into the chambers, Adrik could understand why. It was as if her very arrival had sucked the warmth out of the room, leaving only chill wind in place of the merrily crackling fire in the corner. 

Their eyes met in the long, measuring gaze always shared between rivals, icy gray-blue meeting warm sorrel brown. He waved one hand at her casually, beckoning her inside. "Don't stand out in the hall, Sister Miranda. The room is cold enough as it is." Knowing damned well what he was doing, Adrik winked at her, before flashing an insincere grin. 

She gave him a withering look. "Lord Adrik," she said flatly, inclining her head. _Don't you even think about starting up with me._

Not all that concerned with how her blonde hair frizzed out around her face and that her clothes were dripping wet with melted snow, the First Sacred Sister approached the bedside. "Queen Theresa," she murmured, falling down to her knees in a habitual kneel. The sick woman reached out and gently rested her palm atop the mass of golden hair, tousling it gently. "How are you feeling?" 

_Why is it she always has to kneel before her, anyway?_ he wondered irritably. If the Sister wasn't slapping someone around, then she was kneeling before them and singing their praises for all to hear. _If she's so insistent on forgetting her peasant roots, then she should stay off her knees so much._

Heh; she should stay 'off of her knees'. That was a good one. Feeling particularly pleased with himself, the dark-haired man began to run his thumb along the worn leather cover of the book in his lap. 

"Like a woman dying," Theresa replied in that ever-faint voice she'd taken to using. Miranda's face twisted in pain for an instant before her features smoothed back to 'normal'. It was as if she'd slipped a mask over her obnoxiously pretty little face to hide her emotions, dismissing them as unimportant. 

_A woman like that has no business on the throne._

Miranda ducked her head, sliding her head out from underneath the clammy palm, grasping the small hand in her own as a trade-off. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that," she told her simply. 

Adrik's sonorous voice filled the room as he started to read again. 

_"'When he answered, however, that she was expected at the palace and must go…'"_

He didn't know if he was trying to be polite and pretend he wasn't watching their exchange or not. He had a feeling he just didn't want to listen to Miranda plastering her lips against the Queen's arse in hopes of earning a few more points in her favor. These were Theresa's final days of life, and every moment they did or didn't spend with her could drastically alter their individual fates. It seemed cruel to think such a thing, because he honestly loved his aunt. She was good and kind—perhaps too much so. However, Adrik had grown up in court, and he was no stranger to the way things worked. Still, that didn't mean he had to like the way things were. 

_"'…she kissed him good-bye, hoping that he would soon feel better—'"_

The innocent little fairytale meant to amuse his aunt suddenly seemed unbelievably depressing. He wanted nothing more than to take the book and throw it as hard as he could—preferably at Sister Miranda's head. 

"I shouldn't deny what—" Theresa grew quiet, and a strange look flickered across her face like a shadow. The woman kneeling by the bedside tensed and released the hand she was holding, instead slipping her arms underneath the monarch's back and helping her to lean over the edge of the mattress. "_Oh—"_ she wheezed out, doubling over and clutching at her belly. 

Miranda's lips curled into a panicked, worried snarl, her hair whipping about her face as she looked up at him sharply. "Get the basin, Adrik. _Now!"_

The open book did indeed go flying, but it was to the floor. He lunged for the chipped porcelain basin that rested on the table near the bed, half-tripping over the discarded piece of literature in his haste to get it to her. 

He didn't make it. 

_splatsplatsplat_

The vomited blood fell almost sluggishly from Queen Theresa's lips as shudders seized her body. Held tightly in the grip of her illness, all she could do was hang there, supported by Miranda as she continued to gag, gag so violently she saw sparks, sparks in her vision, richest orange and brightest violet— 

--orange and violet that had rippled so vibrantly, she saw they hadn't been sparking at all— 

--so real, so true that those colors might have been human— 

But oh, a thought like that didn't make any sense at all. Half-sobbing in relief as the convulsions left her, Queen Theresa gulped in deep draughts of air, allowing herself to collapse against Miranda. 

Adrik cast his gaze down slowly to the floor, noting with peculiar intensity the mess that was even now congealing atop the top of his equally dark boots. _I still can't get used to how dark it is…_

"Nice catch, idiot," the Sacred Sister snarled at him, indicating the blood with a sharp jerk of her chin. She absently smoothed one hand down Theresa's back, not noticing the dark splotch that now stained the sleeve of her shirt. It was funny, how well darkness hid the blood on ones hands, while bright, pale light was unable to conceal what it had done. 

The Light couldn't mask such evils because it went against its very nature. Light was meant to heal, to warm—not to harm others and leave icy chill in its wake. What kind of country would Mille Seseau become if the throne were left to Miranda? 

He didn't want to find out. 

*** 

*hacks and slashes at the other Kongol fangirls out there, fighting a brave, valiant battle to become the One True Kongol Fangirl To Rule Them All * 

*pauses * 

Uh… hi. I'm Sharra, and uh… ignore the dead people on the floor? 

Ahem. Well, chapter one is done, and I'm a little happier with it than I was when I started out. This is set, as you can tell, about a year after the game ended. 

Yeah, Kongol is speaking a bit better than he was at the end of LoD, but I figure with practice, he would get a bit better at the language. I'm going with Swiftgold's theory (go read Healer, Killer) that the Giganto language is extremely intricate, and if you grow up speaking it, it's nearly impossible to ever speak another language properly, so it's unlikely his language skills will ever get much better than this. 

And again, going off of Swiftgold's theory (I love you, Swifty-chan!), the 'elements' people are born under in game act almost like horoscopes or astrology, in a sense that their personality usually relates to their element. This is with some variation, mind you, as, if everyone were the same, stuff would get really boring really quickly. Miranda doesn't exactly fit the typical 'Light' element, now does she? Well, when life sucks for you, what can ya do? 

Thunder—Arrogant and stubborn, standing very firm in their beliefs. 

Fire—Aggressive, charismatic leader-types. (So that's why the Red Guy is always Leader…) 

Earth—All born under the Earth element have some type of Giganto blood somewhere along the line. As a child must inherent an element from one parent, the Earth element is the rarest to be born under. While Gigantos have an affinity to be born under Earth, it's not uncommon to find they were born to other elements as well. Earth elements are extremely determined and steadfast, especially when compared to the other elements. 

Wind—The thinkers, sometimes prone to being quiet and reserved. 

Water—Typically, they're playful and whimsical types, prone to quick changes of mood. 

Light—Gentle, healer types, caring and understanding. 

Darkness—Serious and more often than not, a bit brooding when left alone. 

Yes, the bickering friendship between Haschel and Kongol is meant to mirror that of Kanzas and Belzac. That Earth/Thunder dynamic, dontchaknow. 

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Amanda Swiftgold, for generally being Swiftgold and sucking me into this fandom, and to Matt, who let me pick at his guy brain, because he's a guy and I'm not. 

Hm, what else…? 

Aha! I don't own Legend of Dragoon, la la, don't sue me, la la. I do own Adrik (such as he is), so don't snag him without permission! 

*wipes the blood off her sword * Any questions? Good. 

See you in chapter two! ^_^ 


	3. Interlude One: Past

"Echo" 

by She-Ronin 

Interlude One: Past 

__

_Kashua Glacier, One Year After the Destruction of Neet _

The endless stretch of gleaming ice was beautiful, in its cold, harsh way. It might even have been a sight worth seeing if he weren't going to die out here. Possibly die. 

Massive arms shook violently in frustration as he adjusted the frigid, heavy weight of his weapon over his shoulder. How could he be so stupid? 

How could he be so… _stupid?_

The slippery ground in front of him exploded in a glittering mass of ice shards as the Devil God swung his axe down in a fit of fury and self-disgust. The unrestrained blow left a gaping fissure in the otherwise unmarred surface of the icy 'road', and he glared at it, a snarl twisting his broad features. 

He. Was. Not. Going. To. Die. Out. Here-and he was _going _to find what he was searching for. Even if it killed-- 

"Stupid!" he raged at himself, "you're the brother of the hero of the Gigantos and you get lost-" 

Of all the ends Kongol could have pictured for himself-they all happened on the battlefield, of course-he had never entertained the possibility that he might freeze. 

It was said that the greatest of Giganto warriors, the true Hero, had once fought against a powerful spellcaster who had hidden himself away in his Tower. The Hero had emerged from the battle victorious, and the Tower had fallen from the skies to crash here in this place. 

The Humans knew this frozen landscape as the Kashua Glacier, but his people had called it by the more complicated name of '_Faien Sevya mon Naijaskare_'; 'the Land Freed of the Shadow of Darkness'. To the Gigantos this was a holy place, and he'd felt compelled to pay a visit to it while Doel was 'visiting' his cousin in Deningrad. 

This hadn't been the first time Kongol and Emperor Doel had quarreled, in their own, odd way. Nor would it be the first time the warrior had stormed off in silent frustration. 

The Human King had wanted him to stay in the city until his failing negotiations with the fragile Queen Theresa were 'completed,' but the Giganto had vehemently refused. From there, the conversation had degenerated into a one-sided shouting match about 'obedience to one's king, a warrior's honor', so on and so forth. 

What Doel seemed to have forgotten was that Kongol wasn't one of his Human warriors. He wasn't bound by the same laws the Human Knights were, and he'd seen what passed for 'honor' amongst their race. No, not even the anger of his dear friend would prevent him from visiting this sacred land-he had to see the Sky Tower for himself now that he was the last. 

That had been that. He'd stormed from Deningrad, hauling his trusty axe with him. 

Unfortunately, purpose didn't necessarily equal knowledge. Other than the occasional snowfall, the two-day journey to Kashua Glacier had been easy enough. Thick forests and white-dusted landscapes had slowly transformed into bare, slippery ground. Then there had been nothing but the pale-bright glacier and the knowledge that part of the Past was here. 

What he hadn't realized was that Kashua Glacier was a veritable labyrinth of twists and turns. Within an hour, he could no longer tell one slippery pathway from the next; by the time he'd admitted to himself just how lost he was, it had been too late to backtrack. He didn't know where to go to backtrack. 

Releasing a tense, shaky breath, Kongol flipped the heavy battleaxe over, swinging it upwards to rest it against one shoulder. Adjusting it so that it rested in a more comfortable position, he cautiously raised one foot and stepped over the crack he'd made. 

Onward. 

Was the path forward the way back towards Deningrad, or was the road behind him the- 

All he could do was walk onward. Anything was better than twiddling his thumbs and doing nothing, after all. He didn't delude himself into thinking Doel had sent a search party after him. He'd just have to get himself out of this one. 

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

He just had to… think about how to find his way to the Sky Tower, and then he'd worry about getting back to Deningrad. 

Minutes stretched by in a hazy of slick cold pathways and cloudy gray skies. He walked until even his legs began to tire. Kongol knew it was likely he was walking in circles, but even with that realization burning in the back of his mind, he couldn't bring himself to give up his search. There was too little left of the Gigantos, and the passing of years had dimmed the memories of childhood, so that the last legacy of his people was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Even if it did mean death in the end-_and it wouldn't_-he had to see the Sky Tower and remember. 

An irritating cramp had begun to wick its way down his calf, and he paused, hissing, to rub at one leg. "Hmph." 

Kongol leaned gingerly against one of the glacier walls as the wave of pain increased. The cold bit through his thick, fur-lined coat as he continued to rest his weight against it, massaging his aching leg. It didn't really seem right for a Giganto warrior to suffer from leg cramps, any more than it did for one to find himself hopelessly lost in the pursuit of history. 

The pain thankfully ebbed away, and as he lowered his foot back to the ground, a resounding 'chink!' met his ears. Looking down to see what it was his heel had bumped up against, Kongol half expected to see a random hunk of ice sticking up from the ground. What he found was a small, rectangular rock, sanded down so that the surface was smooth. A thick layer of ice completely covered the gravestone, indicating that the spot where he was standing had been someone's resting place for quite some time. Now that he looked more closely, the ground where he was standing wasn't solid ice like most of the glacier. It was frozen soil. Some Human must have had very idiotic kin. They would have to be out of their minds to dig a grave in such hard earth… 

A single, soft footstep sounded from behind him, followed by a single, barely audible growl. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he tensed, reaching up with his free hand to grasp the heft of the axe tightly. 

Human, he thought. It was out of warning that Kongol lashed out with his weapon, the scythe-like blade slicing audibly through the air. 

"Shit!" 

Though he was several feet away from the girl, she stumbled backwards on the ice, a flicker of fear passing across her thin, cold-reddened face. Her look of terror quickly faded into one of outrage as she windmilled about in a futile attempt to remain standing. Unfortunately, her flimsy boots didn't have the needed traction and, with yet another foul curse, the newcomer fell flat on her back. The loose hood of her jacket fell back to expose crudely shorn blonde hair. 

This was his possible 'attacker'? She looked too small to do much damage to anything! Kongol gave an impolite snort and automatically relaxed his battle stance. 

She sat up with a snarl-gray-blue eyes flashing as her fists began to shake. _"You could have killed me!"_

Now it was his turn to take a step back. 

Well, appearances could be deceiving... 

He wondered if his axe would be enough to fend off her attack. 

____ 

Look! I'm here! I'm alive! 

Anyway, this isn't really an update persay... part two of Echo is still in the works, and this was originally part of it. The problem is juggling a lot of sizeable flashbacks, some dream sequences, and then the main storyline. People would get real confused, real quick, so I'm going to try putting the flashbacks in as story interludes/side story thingies. 

Yes, I took serious liberty with the story of Faust and the Tower of Flanvel, lol. History gets warped fairly easily over such a long stretch of time, so as far as Kongol knows, Belzac did fly in like an action hero and handed Faust's ass to him. Mmm... Belzac. 

Going with the theory that the Dragoons find each other, I wouldn't be all that surprised if our Main Characters in game had met one another even before the game began. We know Dart and Haschel did. It also stands to reason that as a Sacred Sister, Miranda might have met Albert, and quite possibly Kongol, as he served Doel. Royalty interactions and all that. 

Gee, I wonder who the blonde girl could be. -_- *COUGH* Going with the official game data, Kongol would be twenty years-old and Miranda thirteen. 

blah blah denotes Kongol speaking in the Giganto tongue. 


	4. Part Two: Remembering

"Echo" 

by She-Ronin 

Part Two: Remembering 

"I woke up in a dream today 

To the cold of the static 

And put my cold feet on the floor 

Forgot all about yesterday 

Remembering I'm pretending to be where I'm not anymore 

A little taste of hypocrisy 

And I'm left in the wake of the mistake…" 

-- Linkin Park, "With You" 

Morning dawned clear and cold on the capital of Mille Seseau. _Too_ clear and cold, if Kongol had anything to say about it; he did, in the form of several muffled, untranslatable curses. Wrapping the blankets more tightly about himself, he shifted his weight against the blue-painted wall—why was everything in this inn _blue_? —and tried to ease the pain in his back. Needless to say, he'd been less than pleased when Haschel had stumbled back into their room in the middle of the night, half-drunk and with a giggling barmaid clinging to his arm. They'd woken him up with all of their… _noise_, but thankfully it had been while their clothing was still _on_. Seeing a seventy year-old man involved in the throes of… activity was not on the top of his to-do list. 

This was the sad fate of the last Giganto—reduced to sleeping out in the hallway while a dirty elder mated with some wench in a room paid for with _his_ money. Kongol grunted in annoyance and glanced out the window, at the bright sphere of the sun slowly rising on the horizon. If he didn't wake Haschel up, it was clear they wouldn't be making it to the palace that day. The martial artist slept for unbelievable stretches of time after drinking, unless someone hauled his carcass out of bed. 

The Giganto hunched over in a vain attempt to keep warm, once more cursing Haschel and his late-night desires. If he were a crueler man, he'd storm into that hotel room, boot that tavern wench out and reclaim his nice, warm spot in front of the fireplace. 

Ah, no, Kongol wasn't a _cruel_ man, but he was going to derive quite a bit of satisfaction from shaking his hungover friend awake in a handful of hours. Soa knew Haschel deserved it. 

He could easily let the man sleep in, but would it be a _good_ thing, or a _bad_ thing? He still couldn't decide. It wasn't as if he were nervous or anything so foolish. _Liar._ Things just became so damned _complicated_ when that woman was involved. They'd been complicated seventeen years ago; circumstances had been shot to hell two years after that, and it hadn't been any easier when they met as Dragoons. 

When he'd followed Dart to Deningrad twelve months before, he'd known exactly whom he would find in the castle. After fifteen seasons, he'd only remembered her as the petty, spiteful teenager he'd parted with under such poor circumstances. 

It had been easier, then, not to speak of the past. He'd been too resentful to say anything, and Kongol hadn't trusted himself to say anything to her. Considering what he knew of her past, it would have been too easy to say something hurtful and make things even worse between them. 

After time, there had come forgiveness, and friendship; things he couldn't have predicted. She wasn't the girl he'd remembered from so long ago. Miranda had become a woman in that time, battle-hardened and able to give as good as she got. However, at the same time, she hadn't changed all that much… 

_Still a bitch,_ he thought with a twinge of amusement. _Still… Miranda._

*** 

_"Don't run, girlie! We just want to have some fun is all!"___

Please no, please no, pleasepleaseplease_— _

_Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, like a drum, beating, beating, beating, and the sound of their wicked laughter echoed in her ears, hateful and merciless, and oh, she knew what was going to happen, they would catch her and she would scream and it would probably happen anyway but it _couldn't_ be happening to her, it wouldn't happen to her… _

_"Someone!" she screamed shrilly, her voice sharp with terror, piercing through the icy-cold night. Her booted feet skidded dangerously across the cobblestones as she turned the street corner and tore through the foul-smelling alleyway. _Soa, please, oh, merciful goddess Miranda, no-- _"Someone help me!"_

Someone_!_

_"Please!__"_

Help— 

"—me, would you? Miranda, wake _up_." 

All in one moment, Miranda was sharply jolted from her nightmare and back into safe, solid reality. The blonde woman shuddered as she sat up, wincing as sore muscles protested at the motion. 

"What?" she asked groggily, scrubbing wearily at her eyes with the back of one hand. There was a painful crick in her neck whenever she tried to move it. Lying propped against the Queen's bedside probably hadn't been the most comfortable way to sleep. Great. All night. She'd slept _all night!_ She'd closed her eyes for a moment after Adrik had slithered off and now it was morning. 

There had been so much to do--! She'd told Luanna she would discuss that council with her, and help Wink decide how much they could spend on disaster relief in Furni— 

But now it was _past_ _dawn_ and it was too late to do any of those things now. "Why didn't someone wake me up sooner? I had things to do!" 

Setie brushed past her hesitantly, gently smoothing the blankets over the sleeping Theresa. 'Because you hadn't slept in two days,' she wanted to say, but didn't. The girl chewed on her lip for a moment. She and Luanna had stopped by briefly when they had a moment to spare, only to find Lord Adrik had gone back to his rooms, and Miranda heavily asleep, sprawled against the bed. 

'Don't wake her,' the Queen had whispered, 'my Sisters.' 

"We tried to," the Fourth Sacred Sister lied quietly, straightening and giving her a very Setie Grin, "but you were snoring too loud to hear Luanna and me." 

"Crybaby," Miranda snarled under her breath. Bracing her hands carefully on the side of the bed, she pushed herself to her feet, careful not to wake the sleeping Theresa. "Let's get out of here so we don't wake her up." 

By now Setie was used to that particular taunt, and nearly let it slide. 

Nearly. 

She bit back a sharp retort—or rather, her response was stifled by the loud yawn that escaped her. Miranda arched one bright eyebrow at her as they filed from the room. The short girl sheepishly slapped one hand over her mouth, and said, "Late night." 

Her night had been all the later because Miranda hadn't been awake to do the duties she'd taken upon herself. She couldn't really fault her for that—none of them could. One of the Four should stay with the Queen, and the First Sacred Sister was the most obvious choice. It was just that Miranda was stretching herself too thin trying to run the kingdom at the same time. As a result, everyone else had to pick up the slack she'd unintentionally left. "Should've let you sleep longer, you know, but _someone_ had to wake you up because…" 

_The hands on her shoulders were kind as the woman knelt down and met Miranda's blue-gray gaze with a stare that was surprisingly sharp. "Poor lass," she muttered. "You're that beggar that lives out by the bakery, aren't you?"_

_Miranda bit her knuckle hard and shrank back from her, pressing her back against the dirty wall of the shed. As her teeth sank ever deeper into her own hand, the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Dark, bitter as death, as the act that had been forced upon her._ If I scream I won't ever stop. I won't, ever, ever, ever… 

_'_You know you want it, sweet. Why else are you out here with the rest of the whores?' _That was what they had said to her. It had been her fault… She must have done something terrible for such a thing to happen to her, right? _Right? 

_"Amani," the stout woman barked, glaring over her shoulder at the golden-haired girl standing behind her, "get your coat off before the lass freezes her bum off, would you?"_

_The one called Amani narrowed her hazel eyes. It was apparent enough that she wasn't happy about having to give her only coat away to someone she didn't even know. Still, she shed the moth-eaten garment and tossed it at the rumpled beggar curled up on the ground._

_Miranda just stared at the mass of cloth and ratty fur. Then, ever so slowly, one skinned hand reached out for the coat, trembling fingers tightly clutching one sleeve. 'Thank you,' she wanted to say, but didn't. If she took her hand from her lips, she would scream…_

_And scream…_

_And scream… andscreamand_screamand  
  


"Didn't you hear me?" 

Miranda jerked slightly as she was jolted back to reality, blinking at Setie. "Wasn't listening," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers and leaning back against the wall. _Goddamned nightmares always do this to me. Stick. _

"Don't you want to know why I woke you up?" 

"Because there was work to do," came the matter-of-fact reply, "and because you let me sleep—" 

Setie interrupted her with a blunt, "Haschel and Kongol are in the throne room, Sister Miranda." 

Haschel… and… Kongol. "In the throne room," Miranda echoed blankly. 

"They came to pay their respects to Her Majesty." the younger woman blinked back the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes. Oh, now wasn't the time to start crying! A thin little sob escaped her. She knew it would annoy Miranda, and that her grief should wait until after Theresa was dead and gone, but she just didn't _care_. "Miranda, what are we going to do when she's—" 

"Stop crying! You're a Sacred Sister of Mille Seseau, now act like one!" 

Startled by the angry command, Setie flinched. _Why do you have to be like this all the time? _She bit her tongue to hold back sobs, making tiny hiccupping noises that caused Miranda's lip to curl. _You know she's going to die!_

_"Are you going to lay there and feel sorry for yourself? 'Cause if you are, I'll be taking my daughter's coat back."_

_The reply she mumbled through her hand was muffled. "I'llscream."_

_The whore ran a hand through her short, gray-streaked curls with a heavy sigh, the hard edge in her eyes dulling with a distant sort of sympathy. "Better scream it out while the hurt's fresh. No one will care if you do—not out here, anyway."_

_So Miranda screamed, long and loud._

_Maybe—_

_--if she kept screaming forever—_

_--it wouldn't have happened--!_

Chills crept up Miranda's spine and she swallowed back the bile in her throat. _Shouldn't yell that way. You promised yourself that you were going to change._ She should apologize to Setie for treating her in such a way, but it was just so easy to shout at moments like these. The fact that she had started having those dreams again wasn't making it any easier to keep her temper. She never had nightmares anymore, unless something was bothering her, but when she did, the past-dreams were always as clear and terrible as if they'd happened only the day before. _Moll and Amani should stay in the past, like the person I used to be._

The 'apology' was a quickly muttered, "I'm tired, and that's all. It's not your fault." 

Setie's only reply was a rather loud, rather messy sounding sniffle that caused Miranda to grimace. _I could've done without that._

One hand carefully smoothed at the wrinkles in her white shirt, fingers brushing over the laces of her wide leather belt to make certain it was still firmly bound about her waist. "How long have they been waiting?" Here she was, wearing her still-damp clothing, hair sticking up like straw, and her friends were downstairs! She wasn't the type to typically be concerned about her appearance, and the Divine Tree knew that the others had seen her looking worse than this. It just didn't suit her to be caught looking unprepared. 

"N—not that long. Twenty minutes?" 

_Twenty!_ After twenty minutes, it was certain Adrik had already heard of their arrival and had gone to greet them. "Don't tell me any more, because I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it." 

Her hard-soled boots thudded softly on the plush carpets as she half-stormed, half-staggered down the corridor, leaving the tearful Setie standing outside the Queen's bedroom. 

She known it was only a matter of time until the Dragoons started to show up; actually, she was surprised that Haschel and… Kongol had been the first to arrive. The two usually left well enough alone, though the old man did tend to have a nosy streak. It wasn't a matter of whether or not she was glad to see them, but it was one more thing to deal with when everyone was overwhelmed enough. 

Out of all the Dragoons to show up now, why did it have to be _him_, anyway? _I hate unfinished business,_ she reflected moodily, slamming her fist into the faceplate of a suit of armor as she swept past it. It clanked and clattered in protest before collapsing to the ground with a loud crash.   
With everything that had happened the year before—Zieg, the destruction of Deningrad, battling the God of Destruction—there just hadn't been an appropriate time to talk. 

He hadn't said anything, that damned frustrating Giganto, the day he'd trailed into the throne room with his fellow Dragoons. The resentment had burned so brightly in his eyes that she'd thought for sure he would tell them everything—tell Queen Theresa what she had been, once. That dangerous, foreboding scowl had been present on his face for most of the journey across Mille Seseau and it had been enough that she had always felt on edge. Fifteen years must have been enough to cool his anger; otherwise he'd have told everyone the horrible things he knew about her, wouldn't he? 

Fine, yes, she'd meant to talk to him about… that. So what if it was damned awkward, or that she had no idea what to say? It didn't matter how long ago it had been, she still owed him an apology for the way she'd acted! The problem was that she had absolutely no idea what to say to him. 

_You wuss,_ she thought in disgust, squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment. _You utter, absolute wuss._

*** 

"I don't think that I'll ever get used to this 'ghost' routine, you know." Kanzas' lips turned down in a slight scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching those in the throne room with a vague sort of disinterest. "Seem voyeuristic." 

Belzac gave him an odd look before he shook his head. "We're not harming anyone," he said mildly. 

"The dead," the other shot back, "have no place among the living." He pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and sauntered towards the bright, gleaming throne that seemed to dominate the room. The words of the living were like a dull, muffled buzz; he was only half aware of what was happening around him. As he ran one finger along the armrest of the throne, his frown deepened. "Queen Tara sensed us." 

"Her name is _Theresa_." 

The redhead gave his former leader a hazy, smug look. "Whatever. The point is that this isn't our place. Too many of these people sense we're here. Death-sense, the 'sight', stick whatever label you want to it." 

_"I've been to Rovyanka, once—just before the old lord was booted out. Must've been around seventeen years back—heard the Queen gave it to her nephew—"_

_"—It wasn't given so much as earned—"_

_"—Oh, quiet, Owen—"_

Kanzas hopped up the steps leading up to the throne, then spun on his heel, falling back into the large chair with an irreverence that made Belzac grit his teeth. _You'd think all the time he spent with those Wingly 'nobles' in life would have taught him some kind of respect._

"I like the old guy—the Spirit could've chosen worse, you know. Like the girl, too—she reminds me a bit of my Shirley." 

Belzac didn't really see much of a resemblance the two. Shirley had been stubborn, true, and very strong-willed when she set her mind on something. But it had been her gentle heart that had drawn others to her. She'd been such a calming presence, in life, constant and steady as the moon. Now Miranda, she was like the sun—bright and fierce, almost too intense to bear at times. "A little," he echoed doubtfully. 

_"How _dare_ you pull a stunt like this?"_

_"Hey there! Been a while…"_

_"It's good to see you're finally awake, Sister Miranda…"_

Kanzas leaned forward in his 'chair' and propped his elbows up on his knees. He rested his chin in his hands, surveying everyone with a gaze that was suddenly more aware, and oddly sharp. Their words still seemed muted to him, but he could tell Miranda and the dark one—Adrik?—were arguing. The girl's fists were clenched at her sides and shaking, as if she were trying not to slap him. The ghost's glower became a gleeful smile. _Good for her,_ he thought, _Dragoons don't take shit like that from anyone._

There were five of them, he noticed, straggling around the large room and generally looking as uncomfortable as hell around each other. He thought that there might have been another girl with them earlier, but he couldn't seem to remember… That tall, bulky man in the center gave off the warm, golden glow of an Earth element; it was clear he had a thick strain of Giganto blood running through his veins. _Belzac's successor must love that._

Kanzas snorted. Oh, yes, it was hard to _hear_ these living beings, yet suddenly, it wasn't so difficult to sense and understand them… 

_"You may be her nephew _by marriage_, but you don't come to this room without leave—"_

_"Your leave, you mean. Huh! I see how it is."_

The hatred between Miranda and Adrik was almost tangible to the ancient spirit. Adrik, yes, that was his name. He needed to remember that, for some reason. 

Adrik's aura pulsed a deep, rich indigo color, swirling thick and dark as blood about him. 

Darkness and Light ever destined to clash, as one tried to overpower the other—it had been the same with Shirley and Rose, who, despite a strong friendship, had quarreled often. 

"I've been trying to figure out why you brought us to this place," he remarked pleasantly, "especially when there's nothing we can actually do here." 

Belzac sheepishly muffled a cough behind his fist. It was possible that bringing Kanzas here had been a very, very bad idea, especially considering his history with the man's wife. "Look," the half-breed began, "before you get any odd notions in that thick skull of yours—" 

Kanzas hopped to his feet. Skipping steps as he went, the redhead was a blur of motion as he strode across the floors and to the other end of the room. He ambled past the others, one by one, until he stood in front of the silent Giganto, Kongol. 

Belzac grimaced as his 'friend' slowly walked around the warrior, looking him up and down with speculative eyes. Though Kanzas had the hardest time out of all the former Dragoons focusing on the 'reality' of the living, and remembering, his empathic senses were the sharpest. He often noticed things other spirits were unable to. Ironically enough, the ghost had a sixth sense to rival that of the Gigantos. 

Kongol tensed unconsciously as Kanzas continued to circle around him, unseen. With a wicked little grin, the Thunder Dragoon reached out and flicked him smack in the middle of the forehead. The Giganto reeled back as if he'd been struck, the color draining from his tan face as he shuddered. 

_"Kanzas!"_

The answering smile sent chills down Belzac's spine. _Here it comes…_

"Belzac, he's your _descendant_, isn't he?" 

The half-breed pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, sighing. "Okay, listen—" 

For a soul so concerned with keeping their presence hidden, Kanzas was having a disturbing amount of fun harassing the living. He flicked Kongol on the head again. "I'm not finished yet, Giganto, so I'd thank you to keep your mouth _shut._" 

_Sometimes I can't even begin to fathom the way your mind works. But I know you're going to jump to conclusions!_

The First Sacred Sister's hair fluttered briefly as Kanzas smacked _her_ upside the head this time. She didn't seem to notice. He leaned closer to the tall woman, shortening the distance between them so that he almost appeared to be whispering in her ear. "… And he _loves_ her." 

Damn that man and his theatrics! "This is—" 

"Earth Dragoon in love with the Light Dragoon—" 

"—not what you think, Kanzas—" 

"—I have half a mind to find out if you can die a second time, you bastard!" 

The two glared at each other for a long, silent moment, one stare dark and accusing, the other guarded and defensive. "Asshole," Kanzas stated succinctly. 

"Regardless of what you're thinking," he shot back, pale eyes narrowing, "what happens in the present has nothing to do with the past." 

"Fine, whatever." The other waved a dismissive hand. "I'm done with this whole mess." 

Belzac felt the recognizable 'tug' on reality as Kanzas began to pass through the veil between worlds and nearly called out to the man. _No,_ he realized suddenly, letting his outstretched arm fall back down to his side, _let him calm down._

In spite of Kanzas' angry words, he paused briefly, an odd expression flickering across his bony face. _Shit. _"Something you should know, before I go," he mumbled, his voice sluggish and almost slurred. _Damn you and your seer's blood, Ma._ He knew better than to try and stop the oncoming prophecy; Hell, at least he knew what he was rambling about now that he was dead. Stupid gift hadn't done a thing for him in life. "Watch that one—" he jerked a thumb in Adrik's direction, "jackass." 

In spite of Kanzas' anger, his frustration at the whole situation, that familiar daze began to overtake him; words formed on the tip of his tongue, and spilled forth from his lips without his own volition. "—because of him," he breathed slowly, swaying just slightly on his feet as he gazed at Adrik, "blood will fall upon the stones like rain, and when all is said and done, the Darkness will have damned itself thrice over." 

That was that; a cryptic mutter, a half-assed prophecy, and he was gone without another word. 

As if it were an omen, Miranda's hand cracked down on Adrik's cheek in the very instant Kanzas vanished, causing Belzac to swallow nervously. _'The Darkness will have damned itself'? Kanzas, why is it that will happen? Do you even know?_

The Violet Dragoon had been the son of a diviner, and some of that power had been passed down to him; he'd been a piss-poor seer in life—maybe even the worst of the 'true' prophets on Endiness, but death had given a bit more clarity to his rare predictions. 

Blood would fall like water… 

_How will you destroy yourself, Lord Adrik Tainevel? What will you do that is so terrible?_

*** 

*bows and scrapes * I'm… _so_ sorry… for this copout… chapter! 

Heh, ahem. Anyway, if you're still with me, let me be honest. This isn't so much an entertaining fanfic as it is a prequel, or even a prologue to a ton of… not-as-dull fanfics where things actually happen. This is just sort of a stopping point along the way, I guess. 

The italics, you guessed it, denote flashbacks/dreams/thoughts/hearing living people talk If You're Kanzas. 

Chapter dedication goes to Fifi and Steel, who listened to me ramble and bitch about this chapter for, like ever, and, as always, to Swiftgold. Because this is her fault. The part of the young hooker, Amani, is played by her. Looooove you, Amanda-chaaan! *ducks and runs* 

And yes, you heard right. _Kongol is in love with Miranda._ He's a Giganto—he's not _dead_. ^_^ 


	5. Interlude Two: Disdain

** Interlude Two - Disdain**

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

Pale eyes regarded Kongol from across the flames, warning and wary. It was a perfectly good, threatening glare, spoiled by the fact the she was gnawing violently on a piece of jerky. 

_Can't believe I've been sitting here for who-knows-how-long with him._

The two of them had combined their meager supplies and together, had managed to start a small campfire. Now they rested-sheltered, if not comfortable-in one of the many little caves that pitted the walls of the glacier. 

The warrior she'd found standing on Father's grave needed a guide, and though Miranda's instincts had screamed at her to race straight back to Deningrad, things hadn't worked out that way. Her yearly visit to visit her father's resting place had been completely spoiled by the presence of the ugly man that called himself Kongol. 

Despite all of that, all it had taken for her to agree with his request was one short phrase. 

'Have money.' 

And, after all, she would do _anything_ for money, wouldn't she? Money meant survival, and survival was what mattered most. Her upper lip curled in disgust. She knew what might happen to her, a young woman alone with a very strange, very _strong_ man, out in a place like this. If something happened, and she screamed, no one would be able to help her. 

But he was a man with a fat purse of gold hanging at his side. Anyway, how naïve would she have to be, to think that if someone else were on the Glacier, that they would even care if she needed help? 

Miranda had found herself homeless on the streets of Deningrad months ago; back when it had first happened; she had been soft and stupid. Now that she knew how the world really worked, there was no way she could be so blind to reality. The 'reality' of life was that it was easier for people to turn their heads to one side and pretend others weren't suffering. Ignorance allowed their bright, happy little worlds to _remain_ bright and happy. 

She continued chewing on the tough, dried meat, not looking away from the huge man sitting in front of her. Her other hand was wrapped tightly around the worn hilt of an old knife, of the variety typically found in kitchens. Some cook in a tavern had used it for peeling vegetables before she'd stolen it. One gloved thumb ran up and down the old blade, and she made no motion to hide the weapon, wanting to be certain he read her message loud and clear: 'Don't you try anything.' 

"I want some more jerky," she mumbled around a mouthful of food, not breaking their mutual gazes, " please." _Better not piss him off unless I can help it, right? _

The Giganto didn't move for long moments, but finally reached into his pack and withdrew a handful of the jerked beef, tossing it awkwardly at her. It was almost amusing to see her drop her knife and fumble to catch the food, which she scooped up greedily into her lap. 

"Thanks," she muttered, surveying the small mass of rations she'd 'gathered'. Her knife gleamed idly in the snow beside her knee, and the girl tensed, her small hand darting out to seize the weapon by its hilt. _'Sky Tower', huh? Can't say I've ever heard Flanvel called that before._

He called things by different names than she did, and to top it off, when he did speak, he was almost impossible to understand. Not only was he a complete stranger, but there was no way in Mayfil that this, this _weirdo_ she'd found standing on top of her father's grave was Human. Miranda hadn't traveled all that much in her thirteen years-- she hadn't seen too many of the supernatural creatures that supposedly littered the land--but she wasn't naïve enough to think her 'employer' just happened to be very, very husky. 

The one called 'Kongol' replied with a stilted, "need eat. So can walk." 

His accent was thick, and his voice strange; so deep and raspy that it caused the hairs on her arms to stand on end at the sheer _oddness_ of it. The first time she'd heard him say something, she'd actually cringed at the way he sounded. Now, she wasn't really the type to cringe, but considering that he'd been shaking his axe at her at the time and shouting Soa-knew-what in some strange language, it wasn't surprising she'd been intimidated. 

How the hell could he _carry_ an axe that size, anyway? She took in the sight of his obscenely broad shoulders and muscular limbs and shook her head. _All right. Stupid thing to wonder._ A particularly hard chunk of jerky was spit out the corner of her mouth and into the snow. _But what is he, anyway? _

Kongol frowned disapprovingly at her display of wastefulness, taking in the way her cheekbones jutted out just a bit _too_ sharply, and noting that she was probably far thinner under the frayed layers of clothing than she appeared. Judging by the look of her, she didn't have room to disdain even the worst of the food he'd offered. It had been a short journey he'd planned on taking, and he'd his rations sparingly enough, at least by Giganto standards. _She ate most of it, too,_ he reflected moodily. Supplies were running low, and he'd have to hunt if he were to have enough for the return journey 

If his current situation had been any less absurd, he would've found it funny. Mere hours ago, he'd been lost and expecting-- _I was not going to die_-to freeze out in the middle of the Glacier. Then, he'd found a guide in the form of a teenaged Human whose father's tomb Kongol had quite literally walked upon, and now he was sitting there, watching her eat _his_ food and believing idiotic claims that she knew where 'Flanvel' was- 

He needed a good, stiff drink right about now. 

"One hundred gold, right? You'd better not be lying to me-" 

"Giganto don't lie." 

The girl's lips formed a round 'O' of surprise before she promptly closed her mouth, wiping the shock from her face. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she looked down; her overly long bangs shielding her expression. 

When his mind wasn't clouded by drink, Father had liked to talk to Miranda about things that were going on in the world. She'd grown up hearing about wars, deaths, and events that little girls didn't really understand, but she'd been happy enough to be treated like a grown-up that she hadn't minded. Miranda had been practically a baby when the Gigantos had been wiped out, and she hadn't paid much heed to the news; after all, what happened to the Gigantos had little effect on her. 

When she'd gotten older, though, she'd started to actually _listen_ and pay attention to what she was told; to pay attention to her parents' arguing, and her Father's love of drink-not only that, but to _listen_ to what he told her. 

_"Those who have seen him run through battlefields with this axe held up high have called him the "Devil God"."_

The last 'Giganto' was an urban legend, a myth used to frighten small children throughout the country. The elders liked to tell tales about the towering warrior; the Devil God carried children away to his dungeon under the ground, then killed them and made clothing from their skin 

_"If you're not a good little girl, Miranda, the Devil God will come to get you."_

_"Ceia! You're scaring her!"_

_I don't know why I didn't figure it out sooner._ Kongol was a Giganto. This man she was sitting next to so casually had called himself a _Giganto_, and there was no way he would lie about such a thing. He just had to be the last of them-the Devil God. 

_Oh, dear Soa, save me, _she thought for one brief, absurd moment. The jerky was suddenly terribly unappetizing to her, and she stopped chewing on it. _I'm going to die and-_

Miranda bit her lip, inhaling a deep draught of bitter cold air as she fought to calm herself. The half-smile she flashed at him was more like a grimace that twisted her face. _No. Don't be stupid, _she cautioned herself, "I knew you were a Giganto," she told him, far too thinly for him to believe her, "so maybe you should quit acting like you just revealed some big secret." 

Kongol rolled his eyes at her. Soa help the man, he actually _rolled_ them as he nudged at a smoldering spark with his toe, effectively squelching the tiny bit of light. 

He hadn't made any moves towards her. _Yet._ Really, he barely even looked at her, and when he did, it was with a distant kind of condescension. Like she was a _kid_, an annoying younger sibling tagging along with him. 

That realization was enough to snap her out of her fit of near-panic. _He hasn't done anything yet._ Not like others did so often. Ten gold, a few degrading moments in an alley, and she had enough gold to pay for another meal. The eyes of those men always followed her, lingering upon her body as if she were something dirty and fascinating all at once. Kongol practically ignored her, much less showed any signs of _interest_. _You're a grown woman, now stop acting like a baby and get this over with! _

She would watch this 'Devil God', and she'd be damned careful around him, no matter what her instincts told her. Letting down her guard would be inviting him to murder her and leave her body for the crows. If she did become careless enough to let the Giganto get that close, then she deserved whatever happened to her. 

It was like Moll said, sometimes, 'You keep sharp wits about you, and a knife that's even sharper.' 

_Watch, and be ready to run if you have to._

* * * * * 

Miranda squinted against the glaring brightness of ice and snow, extending one small hand to gesture at the steep incline that led down into the open depths of Kashua Glacier. "Flanvel's down there," she said without preamble, "I think." That was what her father had told her on their occasional trip down here. He'd had Water affinity, and so he'd loved Kashua. The two of them were always taking trips to the area before the Accident had crippled him. "Father never let me go explore that far before, but he told me he'd seen it." 

Golden eyes followed the path of her hand, taking in the steep path, and the broken trail of icy 'stepping stones' that would lead them to it. He pinched the bridge of his nose between one gloved thumb and forefinger and sighed to himself. 

The cracked, broken ice was packed closely enough together that it formed yet another road amongst dozens; would be unlikely it would be all too easy to slip, or take a wrong step and plummet a good hundred feet below 

Things were going to get tricky from here on out. 

A small, obnoxious little voice in the back of his mind warned him that the girl could be lying to him. She would take his money and then give him a good shove off the 'rocks'; she really had no idea where she was going and was trying to seem more worldly than she really was; whatever. 

_If that's the case, I'll crush her skull with my bare hands,_ he thought grimly, and allowed his hand to fall back to his side. He meant every word of it. 

"Why do you want to see some 'Sky Tower' this badly?" More importantly, why couldn't she make herself stop babbling? _If he doesn't like it, he can fuck off. _

Kongol didn't respond, placing one gigantic foot on the surface of their 'road'; gingerly leaning his weight on it, testing its strength, the warrior began to speak haltingly. "Holy place," he explained quietly, "Great battle. There. Tower." 

_Not only big, but stupid._ Miranda sniffed at him with the kind of disdain only thirteen year-olds could muster. "You go first. You're practically standing on it anyway." 

There was room enough for one person to cross over on the way to the cavern, but the two of them would be hard-pressed to navigate the slick area without one of them knocking the other over the edge. It would be fine if Kongol followed behind Miranda, or vice versa, but 

_***-- his mother's blood was so bright that it almost hurt to look at it--***_

_Don't ever trust a Human._

_***--'Let's go down here where things are more private, dearie. It's nice and dark--'***_

_I don't care how much money he has, I'm not that stupid._

"Girl first." 

"No," she said forcefully, shaking her head. His jaw clenched and he growled, a low, threatening sound that made her flinch even as anger coiled tightly in the pit of her stomach. Gray-blue eyes flashed defiantly at him. "I won't go, and there's no way you can make me unless you're going to-- _Soa_!" 

One minute she'd been arguing with him, the next, frozen ground was flying towards her face. She landed on the pathway with a hard jolt, pain wicking up from her palms and to her elbows where she'd tried to catch herself. 

Miranda lay facedown, shocked and unmoving with her nose smashed into the fine sheet of snow that covered everything around them. _You bastard, _she thought, pushing herself onto her knees with a soft hiss of pain. 

Mother once told her that when she was angry, when she closed her eyes she would see the color red. 'Rose red, blood red.' The young prostitute knew that was the truth, and as she looked over her shoulder at the Giganto standing behind her, it was all she could do not to rush at him and try to hurt him somehow. She wanted to scratch at his face and _claw his eyes out_. 

All she could do was swallow down the anger that literally made her body shake. That was all she was ever able to do, for anger was a luxury the world didn't allow her. Anger didn't help one deal with men pushing up their skirts and groping at them in dank, dark alleys, doing who-knew-what for a mere ten gold. She needed to accept and cope, not fight back. 

"Fine," she grit out when she trusted herself to speak. "I'll go first." 

His eyes were so disdainful of her. God, she hated it when people looked at her like that. 

Her threadbare layers of clothing rustled about her as she carefully began to make her way towards the cave entrance, cold wind whipping her ragged blonde hair this way and that. 

His footsteps were so heavy that they almost shook the ground beneath them, and she wondered that the broken ice was able to support him at all. _I hope it shatters beneath you, Devil God. You know, if it does, I'll make sure to have a great time dancing on your grave._

But if he died, he wouldn't pay her the money he'd promised. One hundred gold was a lot of money when you had nothing but the clothes on your back. 

"You didn't have to push me, you know." _Asshole._

"Just walk." 

"You didn't have to do that," she snapped again, "you just wanted to." 

His stony silence was all the affirmation she needed. Her lips quirked up slightly in a smile that was far too knowledgeable for her years. _Is that how Gigantos treat women, Devil God, or did you learn it from us Humans?_

"Know _nothing_." If Miranda had bothered to look over her shoulder, she might have been startled to see how similar their unhappy smiles were. 

There was only a slight hesitation in her awkward, shuffling steps as his words reached her, but other than that, the girl-woman gave no indication that she'd even heard him, much less cared. 

* * * * * 

BLAH. Okay have I said yet how totally freakin' HARD it was to write them seventeen years younger? (Present time Kongol is about thirty-seven, and Miranda about thirty, according to official info.) Not to mention past-Miranda is a freakin' contradiction at this point in time. Yes, I did say Miranda was a prostitute. At thirteen. No power on this Earth is gonna convince me Theresa found her _right_ after she was left alone. So there. She may seem a little old for her age, but I figure with the way she's living, she had to grow up. 

Anyway, thanks for sitting through this latest flashback interlude thingie. Next up - an actual chapter, _woohoo_! 


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